


The Secretary

by tuddles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Secretary (2002)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, BDSM, Cutting, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuddles/pseuds/tuddles
Summary: Fresh out of a phycological institution, a tormented Anthony Crowley tries to deal with his issues of self abuse as he looks for his place in the world.Things take an interesting turn when he sees a vacant job opportunity to be a secretary for a local bookstore.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Dagon (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens), Crowley/Eric (Good Omens), Lilith/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a bit of an interesting experiment for me in that I have never tried to merge Good Omens with a movie before. 
> 
> Please be warned, do check the tags before reading because there is going to be a lot of sensitive themes in this fic.
> 
> I'm not too sure yet how much time there will be in between chapters as I will be updating as I go, but I am looking forward to getting into it.
> 
> Hoping you are all well.
> 
> P.S. To anyone who has seen Secretary - I am so sorry, I know you will be sad for Eric. 
> 
> <3

Crowley got out of the institution on the day of his sibling’s wedding.

He had just started getting used to the place. Breakfast at 8:00, classes at 2:00, therapy at 4:00 and asleep by 10:00. Inside, life was simple. For that reason, he was reluctant to leave.

“Call me anytime you need to, okay? I will always be here for you,” the tall, slender brunette said as she walked Crowley out of the large sandstone building, a sincere softness to her educated voice.

Standing at six feet tall, Crowley had at least a couple of inches on the bespectacled American, yet he always felt like she was towering miles above her. With her multiple degrees, her healthy marriage and her sparkling white teeth, Crowley could not shake the feeling that Dr. Anathema Device had her life all planned out perfect. From where Crowley was standing, Dr. Device’s road was one of smooth asphalt and trimmed hedges, far overshadowing his own dismal path of stale dirt and tumbleweed. As much as the kind-hearted psychologist wanted to help him fix the gapping potholes and water the thirsty grass, he knew that it was ultimately going to be up to him. He needed to stop dragging his sorry feet through the dirt and start laying a stronger foundation to walk on.

“Thank you, Dr. Device,” Crowley said, his handsome but frail face stayed emotionless as he accepted a hug from the shrink, breathing in her white musk perfume for what he felt like would be the last time.

After the brief embrace, he watched as Dr. Device walked back into the large facility, sighing out a long breath as he took in one last view of the place that he had called home for past six weeks before turning and carrying his sad duffel bag to the street, plopping it and himself onto a bench.

With his well-worn jeans, baggy black hoddie and dark shades, the lanky twenty-two year old looked like a miscreant youth, long legs parted and head ducked down, seemingly not interested in anything that was happening around him. He sniffed and rubbed his nose on the end of an oversized sleeve, pulling the fabric around his hands and grounding himself in the feeling of thick fabric against his fingers.

After a good half an hour of staring at the park across the road, he was just about to slink back inside the institute to call home when he heard the familiar cough of a tired engine rounding the corner.

 _Honk honk,_ the cheerful toot of a car horn sounded as the old red Camry pulled up in front of him.

“Sorry I’m late baby, I had to pick up the cake and then I realised that we didn’t have any ice and then – “ a flustered middle-aged woman called out the car window, reaching over from where she sat in the driver’s seat to open up the passenger side door.

“’Sokay mum,” Crowley said, folding his long body up as he sat in the cramped front seat, duffle bag on his lap.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the parked car while they both just sat there, the woman looking at Crowley while Crowley looked at his bag. While they had spoken on the phone regularly, it had been weeks since they had seen each other in person. He could feel his mum’s worrisome eyes regarding him.

“It is good to see you, love,” Crowley’s mum, Lilith, said as she placed a quick kiss on his cheek and then yanked at the hand break. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” she said, pulling an air of forced glee over her true emotions while she began the drive home.

~*~

The ceremony had been a simple but sweet affair, a celebrant marrying his sibling to their partner in the backyard of the family home. Crowley was happy for them, truly. Beelzebub had always been there for him, even though they had drifted apart since childhood. When Bee had met Dagon, it was like Crowley no longer existed, but that was okay. Crowley understood why Bee would want to get hitched and leave the nest, do all those grown-up things that you were supposed to do. Just because Crowley had fucked up his life didn’t mean he wanted the same for everyone else.

Crowley didn’t have any formal clothing of his own, so he was dressed in one of his father’s old business suits. His dad was a little bit taller and much wider than him, so the clothing hung loosely off his bony figure, much like a child playing dress up in their parent’s bedroom. To his relief, the shiny leather shoes did fit, hopefully meaning that he wouldn’t clumsily fall over his feet. Well, no more so than he usually did.

When he found a moment to do so, Crowley stepped to a quiet corner of the back porch, enjoying being alone for a moment while he looked over the buzzing reception in front of him. So many faces that he didn’t know. So many smiling lips and rosy cheeks. He smiled too, but it was difficult to hold it there for so long. He briefly wondered how many of them were also struggling with the façade, to not let the mask slip…

A sound came from behind him and he turned around just in time to see a familiar face coming out of the house, joining him on the porch. He actually did smile for real this time, a small and shy one.

“Hi Eric,” Crowley said after a moment.

“You almost successfully forgot my name, didn’t you?” Eric said, a warmness to his teasing.

“Did not!” Crowley protested, hoping that he was not blushing as he turned to look back over the party.

“Anyway…” Crowley added with a shrug of his slender shoulders, “could you really blame me if I did? You and your brothers look so much alike.”

Eric laughed at that, an easy one that rolled off his tongue. He certainly did look like his brothers, they were identical triplets. Perhaps that is why he always felt the need to be a little unique. His sparkly blue tie and his smoky eyeshadow certainly made him stand out against the other two.

“Touché,” Eric said, the side of his lips tweaking with a smile. “Are you happy to be home?” he asked.

“Er… yup, yeah” Crowley said, averting his gaze and reaching behind him, rubbing the back of his own neck. Not for the first time that day, he was grateful for the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“I mean… are you _happy_ to be home?” Eric pressed, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“Umm…” Crowley hummed, feeling the urge to be honest. From what he remembered from high school, Eric was a nice enough guy, not one to go around spreading gossip and messing around with people’s emotions. He was rather a loner actually, not unlike Crowley himself.

“Uhh… you know…” Crowley ended up saying, tilting his head to the side like it was some sort of legible answer. Even he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

“I know what you mean,” Eric said, giving a sympathetic look as he stepped in line next to Crowley, both of them facing the sea of happy, laughing people.

Crowley didn’t reply but simply nodded his head while they fell into a comfortable silence. For a moment there Crowley thought that it wasn’t so bad being an outcast when there was someone there beside you.

~*~

The next couple of hours were the best that Crowley had had all day. Scrap that, it was the best that he had had in months. He and Eric ate wedding cake and sipped on champagne while they chatted. Before long, they were even out on the dance floor, laughing at each other’s bad dance moves and generally having a rather pleasant time. In hindsight, Crowley really should have seen it coming. Things usually did tend to go south whenever it was going well.

“No, I don’t want any bloody water!” a loud voice was heard over the music, the sound instantly grating on Crowley’s ears like nails against a chalkboard.

“Um, ‘scuse me,” Crowley said to Eric, dipping his head in regret before he slinked over to where the commotion was happening.

“Luc, please. Sit down, have something to eat,” Lilith was saying in a calm voice, shaky hands reaching for a plastic garden chair to offer her husband.

“I’m not a fucking child!” Lucious, Crowley’s father, snapped out.

Crowley stopped in his tracks, a wave of something ugly and terrifying shooting through his body, making his legs instantly lock up and his mouth go dry. He wanted to say something, to do something, but all he could manage to do was watch as his father kicked the chair out of his mother’s hand, a plastic leg cracking and snapping in two.

Crowley was still stuck in place as a couple of guys came over to defuse the situation, one helping Lilith with the chair while the other ushered Lucious away from the crowd. The music and dancing seemed to not be interrupted at all, everything continuing as normal. But Crowley just stayed there, blinking slowly as he watched his father throw up into a bush, no doubt just making room for more nips of whiskey.

After another blink, Crowley felt control come again to his extremities, searing hotness rushing through his veins. Wincing, Crowley stormed into the house and up the stairs, marching into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. Once inside, he did not stop, rushing to his bed and lifting up the mattress to fish out a matte black makeup case which had been hidden out of sight. As soon as he heard the smooth _zzzzz_ of the zipper opening, he inhaled deeply, letting it out with a long, refreshing sigh.

With some urgency, Crowley climbed onto his bed and wrestled with his jacket, tossing it on the mattress and then unbuttoning the cuff of the white dress shirt, rolling his left sleeve up all the way to his shoulder, as high as it would go. With another sighed breath, he slowed down his movements and placed the black case on his lap. Ceremoniously, he took out each item from the case with care, long skinny fingers treating them with an almost loving touch.

A pair of nail scissors, a sharpened butter knife, a small bottle of iodine, cotton swabs, pocketknife, whetstone, three razor blades, Band-Aids and sewing needles.

His hands were steady as a rock as he laid each item down on his bedsheet, each one having its own spot in the row, each with its own sinister purpose. He chewed his lower lip as he ran a fingertip across the instruments. Without a second thought, he snatched up the butterknife and scrapped it against the grey whetstone, back and forth until the tip was freshly sharp. Once it was ready, he held it firmly in his right hand and guided the gleaming tip to his left arm, pressing it against the pale flesh just below the dip of his elbow.

He was a millisecond away from breaking the skin when he heard cries of laughter and cheers flooding in from outside. Distracted by the noise, he looked up from his arm and peered out of the window, faced with the wholesome view of Bee and Dagon getting into their rented limo. He could feel his body begin to relax at the sight, muscles loosening when he saw just how happy his sibling was. As the limo drove away and the guests went back to the party, Crowley deflated, slumping forwards and moving the blade away from his skin.

~*~

Crowley and his mother had been in the kitchen when he had his accident. it happened almost two months ago now, yet the details of the incident were still as clear as a bell in his mind.

His parents had had a big fight the night before which had resulted in his mother getting a black eye and his father passing out drunk in the hallway. They were slicing up fruit to have for brunch the next morning when Crowley had cut himself too deep.

He still didn’t know how he had managed to push the knife into his wrist too deep, he had been doing it since he was twelve. The only thing he could think of was that he misjudged due to rushing – his mother would only take a moment to get the watermelon from the fridge, so he only had a small pocket of time to work with. So, what was intended to be just another small clean cut ended up being a large gash, resulting in a trip to the ER and then later, to the institution.

Every now and then Crowley would look down to the scar on his wrist, it serving as a reminder to never cut so deep ever again.

~*~

The day after the wedding, Crowley was determined to get rid of his ‘collection’ as he called it. If Bee could get their act together and have a normal life, he was sure that he could. After all, he was not the only one who had to deal with growing up in this tainted household. Why was it that he was the one who turned out so messed up?

These horrid thoughts swirled around his mind as he carried the makeup back downstairs and out of the front door. He marched up to the trash can by the road, tossing the bag in and then turning around, intent on getting rid of the darn thing once and for all.

As he went to walk back inside, he felt the bag calling to him, pulling at him like invisible chains around his skinny waist. A wave of melancholy fell over him, telling him that he would have nothing solid to rely on if he didn’t have his collection. Over the past decade or so, the cool sting of the blade and the rush of release was one of the only things that was stable, the only thing he could truly rely on to be there. To never change. With closed eyes he took in a deep breath and then turned around, saving the bag from the unhappy jaws of a trash compactor.

As he pulled the bag out, the large bold lettering of a Newspaper caught his eye. ‘CLASSIFIEDS’ called out to him, reminding him that there were things out there that he could be doing with his sad excuse for a life. With an interested quirk of an eyebrow, he snatched up the paper and took it and his collection back into the house.

Once he got back to his bedroom, he sat down at his small study desk and turned on his reading lamp, smiling to himself as he smoothed out the newspaper, brushing away a few spots of dirt as he did so. A new kind of excitement flooded his system as he started to read the rows of text, circling any interesting looking vacancies with a ballpoint pen.

 _“Secretary,”_ he said out loud as he circled one of the advertisements, a job opening for being the secretary of a small local bookshop.

This could be promising…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gathers all the courage that he can muster and goes to apply for a job at A.Z. Fell and Co. 
> 
> In other words, our boys meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoy this second chapter. 
> 
> Much love. 
> 
> <3

Crowley had thought that he had seen the bookshop before, but he could not remember ever actually going inside of it. With its turn of the nineteenth century architecture, the quaint store fit perfectly into the old town square, so much so that it was quite easy to simply overlook entirely. This time however, Crowley was certainly not overlooking it. It was most definitely standing front and centre in his mind.

He must have been standing out on the sidewalk for a good half an hour just looking at the store’s front with a dumb look on his face and a tight grip on his resume. He didn’t really know why he was feeling so nervous, it’s not like he had never applied for a job before. Granted, it had been more than a year since he had last worked and that was before he had his little ‘accident’. leaving the institution had left him feeling like a newborn, excited to get out into the world but also very much terrified and overwhelmed by even the smallest of things. Waves of irrational thoughts crashed upon him as he stood there, shaded eyes focused on the front window, the proud and prominent ‘HELP WANTED’ sign burning a hole in his core.

At some point it started to drizzle outside, which made him finally have to make a choice. It was either get his arse in there now, run home with his tail between his legs or continue to stand there and start the life of a drowned rat. Luckily for him, he chose the first option.

 _Ding,_ a charming little bell sounded as he opened the door, the lone chime echoing in the seemingly empty store. By empty, we of course mean that it was empty of people, not of things. There was actually an overload of things if we are being completely honest. There were large wooden bookcases lining every inch of the walls, stretching high all the way up to the ceiling. Antique furniture was littered throughout, every surface covered with old photo frames and porcelain knickknacks. But mostly, there were books. _So many books._ Every shelf in sight was packed to the brim, the panels precariously dipping in places. Even more books were scattered through the store, piles of the things stashed in corners and under tables, some even right in the middle of walkways. Crowley arched an eyebrow, wondering how anyone could even move in this place let alone find something to buy.

“Uhh, hello?” Crowley asked into the stale room, his voice seeming oddly loud in the still silence.

He was just about to pull the plug and just get out of there when he heard a sound from somewhere in the back, a kind of shuffling noise like someone was moving about.

“Hello?” he said again as he ventured into the belly of the beast, being careful not to knock down any of the random stacks of literature in his way.

“Hello, is anyone there?” he said a bit louder, throwing his voice down a small hallway he could see which presumably led to some sort of back room or office.

“Hello?” a voice finally replied to him, sounding almost as hesitant as his own was.

“Yes, please… umm… yes, please do come in,” the faceless voice continued, inviting Crowley into the darkness.

It was a very English voice, and well educated by the sound of it. It was a rather calming tone Crowley thought, though he could not quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it reminded him of those educational shows on the BBC or of his grade eight history teacher. Either way, it sounded harmless enough to make him comfortable with stepping into the back room of some place he had never been before, to meet someone he had never met before.

Crowley could not help feeling like he was Alice falling down the rabbit hole as he walked down the short dark hallway and then pushed open the door at the end of it, curiously looking around as he entered into what turned out to indeed be an office. It was a rather large office actually, larger than he had anticipated it to be. In keeping with the aesthetic of the rest of the place, this room was also filled with aged furniture and piles of books, but there was also a large mahogany desk which was in immaculate condition. Upon the desk there were neatly stacked papers and carefully arranged tools, weird looking magnifying glasses and small lamps. He briefly wondered what those were all for, his brain only snapped back to reality by the auditable clearing of a throat.

“Good Afternoon,” the calming voice said, Crowley now able to put a face to it.

It was like the man had been made in the same place as the bookshop, Crowley mused to himself as he ran his eyes over the clearly Victorian inspired outfit the man wore. The rather formal combination of waist coat and bow tie which the man wore suddenly made Crowley’s skinny jeans, plain black tee and light jacket seem rather unprofessional. Crowley chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking that he should have really come more prepared. He was an older gentleman, Crowley figured that he was at least ten years his senior, maybe in his mid to late thirties. He was handsome, but not in the conventional sense. The word that came to Crowley’s mind was beautiful. Yes, he was a beautiful man, all soft edges and smooth curves. His blue eyes twinkled, and his white-blonde hair glowed like a halo, almost golden beneath the lamp he was bent over. He had been rummaging through a box when Crowley had come in, muttering something under his breath that Crowley could not quite hear. 

“Oh, um. Sorry to disturb you, I can come back later,” Crowley spat out, turning to head back out of the door. He suddenly felt like he was intruding on this man’s day.

“No,” the blonde man said, his voice shifting a touch, becoming a firm, solid thing which was weighted with authority. “No. _Stay.”_

So, Crowley stayed.

He stayed and turned around. Sucking in some courage, he took a few large steps towards the man and extended his long arm in front of him, offering the slightly crinkled piece of paper that was his resume.

“It um… it said Secretary in the… in the newspaper,” Crowley said, voice a little uncertain.

“Ah, yes. That’s right,” the man said, taking the proffered paper into his hand and then motioning to a chair as he walked around his large desk. “Please, sit.”

And so, Crowley sat, feeling awkward as he shifted to get comfortable, suddenly feeling like his limbs were too large for him. From behind his shades, he watched as the proper gentleman sat down, sliding a set of delicate round reading glasses upon his upturned nose and reading over the text. Crowley’s knee started to bounce as he tried to resist apologising for his lack of references.

“Do you have your own transport?” the man asked after a few moments.

“No, I mean yes, umm… I don’t have a car, but I have a bicycle. But I don’t need it to get here. I only live a few blocks away, so that won’t be an issue for me, if that’s what you were wondering… so, yeah. No issue with getting here,” Crowley said, shutting himself up when he realised that he was rambling.

“Are you married?” the man then asked. The question instantly throwing Crowley off guard.

“…No” Crowley replied.

“Do you live alone?” another unexpected question came.

“Um, no.” Crowley said. “I live with my parents.”

“Do you have siblings?” was asked next.

“Yes, one. They just got married.” Crowley said, not quite sure why he offered that extra bit of information.

The man was oddly emotionless while he took in the details, like he was doing advanced calculous in his head. He then cleared his throat while he reached over behind him and flicked a light switch, one which turned on a large chandelier which hung from above, instantly transforming the room into a warm, glowing beacon of light. It was then that Crowley was compelled to look up. And when he did, his jaw dropped on its own volition at what he saw.

Across the high ceiling spanned a huge biblical painting. Romantic depictions of angels and demons fighting in an age-old war for the souls of humankind. Mighty ethereal warriors locked in combat with sinister looking devils, all equally matched in their will and strength. Some of the painting was still not finished, mostly around the edges and some random blank spots throughout, but that didn’t matter because as soon as you looked at it, your eyes instantly went to the middle. Crowley’s eyes widened in sheer awe upon seeing the two beings in the centre of the painting, an angel and a demon locked not in combat, but in what could only be described as a lover’s embrace. The obviously strong emotion in the piece was embedding itself deep within Crowley when the blonde man started speaking again, yanking Crowley back down to reality.

“I see you have no professional references?” he asked, spotting something that Crowley had been nervous about.

“Ah, yeah,” Crowley said, thinking for a moment on what to say about that. In the end, he decided to just be honest. “ I’ve only had one job before, at the record shop that used to be over on George St. They um, they sold the place when the owner passed away and um… Well, he was the only one that I’ve ever worked for, so… yeah.”

“I see,” the man said, a contemplative look flashing across his face before he stood up and wandered over to a bookcase, carefully scanning a row.

“I have to find something. Could you please get me a cup of tea? With milk and sugar.” He said, continuing his search for something with his back to Crowley.

“Yeeaa… sure, yup, of course,” Crowley said, his gut instincts telling him it was the right thing to say.

The desire to do this task for the man overtook him, lifting him up from his chair and leading him down the hallway and into a small kitchenette which he spotted. There wasn’t much to work with really, just a simple counter with an electric kettle, a microwave, sink and a mini fridge, but he supposed that it would do the job of tending for one or two people. Without much fuss, he filled the jug up and turned it on, rummaging around the little cupboards until he found what he was looking for.

_Right. Teacup, check. Teabag, check. Sugar, check. Milk… milk… ok, so there's no milk._

Crowley chewed on his lower lip while he thought about what to do. The man had said tea with sugar and milk and that is exactly what he wanted to give him. He thought about telling the man he was out of milk and if he wouldn’t mind tea without it, but for some reason he just couldn’t bring himself to doing that. A horrible feeling of being the cause of disappointment started to pool in his stomach.

By the time the kettle had finished boiling, Crowley had decided on what he was going to do. He filled the cup up and let the tea brew while he quickly ran out the front door of the shop and dashed across the street in the rain, ducking into the little convenience store there and buying a little bottle of milk. When he got back, the tea was thankfully still hot and was now a deliciously rich colour. After sprinkling in a bit of sugar, some milk, and of course removing the tea bag, he gave the drink a stir and then carefully carried it from the kitchenette into the office.

~*~

“I don’t need a qualified sales assistant,” Mr Fell said, the Man having given his name to Crowley when he moved them over to a seating area at the other end of his office. They both sat on comfortable couches facing each other with a coffee table between them, Mr Fell quietly taking sips of his tea.

“I specialise in the maintenance and restoration of books rather than selling them,” Mr Fell explained, something in his voice telling Crowley had he really didn’t like the idea of selling his horde of dusty hardbacks. “I am more looking for someone who can answer the phone, organise my files, type up letters and to do some light upkeep. Sweeping, dusting, that sort of thing.”

“I can do those things,” Crowley said, sensing that it was the right thing to say. And he was right, he _could_ do all of those things.

“We do not use computers here, only typewriters. And no vacuum either, simple broom and dust pan I’m afraid,” Mr Fell said, curiously making the job sound less inviting. Crowley had to wonder, did he really want to hire someone at all?

“I am fine with a broom, and I can use a typewriter,” Crowley lied. Well, not lied exactly, more exaggerated. He had played with his father’s old typewriter when he was a kid, but he hadn’t used the blessed thing for years. But he was certain that he could do it, how hard could it be? Oil it up, insert paper, press a few buttons. Easy peasy.

“I don’t know if you would be stimulated enough in this role. It is very boring work,” Mr Fell said, a look of doubt on his rounded face. Maybe even concern?

“I like boring work.” Crowley said. Simple, firm and to the point. He sat there with a stern look on his face, emotionless and sturdy.

There was a pause then, a silence where Mr Fell just looked at Crowley, pursing his lips together and leaning back into the couch.

“There is something about you…” Mr Fell said, pushing his brows together while he thought out loud. “You are closed in tight… like you have this shell around you… a wall even.”

Crowley squirmed slightly at that accusation but did not answer. His silence was enough of an answer to that.

“Do you ever lighten up?” Mr Fell asked.

“I… don’t know,” Crowley said honestly. It felt weird talking about this with someone he had just met. But for some reason, there was also a bit of a comfort in it, like it was okay to talk about it in this office. A comfortable space hidden away from the rest of the world. It reminded him of Dr Device’s office in that respect, and wasn’t that a weird comparison?

“Well… first thing’s first I suppose,” Mr Fell said, taking in a breath and clasping his hands together. “A bit more sugar next time.”

_Next time._

The words poured into Crowley, almost making him crack a smile.

He had a job!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Aziraphale Z. Fell struggles with his own feelings about his new employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. 
> 
> So, while this fic is primarily going to be in Crowley's PoV, I feel like it might be nice to weave at least some of Aziraphale's PoV through it as well.
> 
> Please enjoy this little chapter of what our favorite Angel is thinking. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3

Despite the bookshop being called A.Z Fell and Co, Aziraphale ran the place all by himself. There had been some silent investors who had helped the business get off its feet in the beginning, but he had long since paid them out and was now the sole owner of the business. Although that was the case, he liked the sound of A.Z. Fell and Co too much to change it. It just had a pleasant ring to it that he could not look past. Plus, he did not have the time nor the patience to complete all the boring paperwork that was necessary to change it.

Truth be told, he did not have the time for a lot of things these days.

Although his shop was small and almost always empty, he was constantly working away like a busy beaver behind the plain and dusty façade. Not that he would brag or anything, but Mr Fell was quite a big name in the Art and Literature scene. Over the years, while technologies changed and the want for e-books slowly started to kill the demand for physical books, he was perfecting the art of conservation and was now the most sought-after restorer in all of wider London. Humble though he was, he rejoiced in his standing, fancying himself a guardian of the arts and protector of old tomes. A lone soldier fighting a quiet battle in his comfortable little part of the world.

With the exception of clients popping in to drop off and pick up commissions, he very rarely interacted with anyone at all. That was, until he hired a certain tall redhead to be his secretary. To be fair, he probably should have hired someone a long time ago. Besides his office, the rest of the shop was in dire need of upkeep and he was getting frightfully behind in his correspondence.

When he had put in the advertisement for the position, he was expecting the candidates to be mousey old women who were looking for something to do, or teenagers whose parents were forcing them to get part time jobs. What he certainly was not expecting was a handsome, slender and very sexy man who walked like he had no bones and spoke like he didn’t know just how silky smooth his voice was. After interviewing the young man, it was clear to Aziraphale that Crowley really didn’t know how attractive he was, and in that there was a certain humble charm which only proved to make Crowley even more alluring. He was like a beautiful piece of artwork which had been framed poorly and hung in the back of the gallery, covered in cobwebs and left to rot. And _oh,_ how Aziraphale wanted to see it cleaned up and placed under a spotlight, front and centre where it rightly belonged.

Even though he was composed on the outside, Aziraphale had been at war with himself during the entire interview. It had been a long time since he had seen a man as gorgeous as Crowley, and even longer since he had gone out with one. It was for that reason why Aziraphale had been unsure about hiring Crowley. He was worried about being tempted by such a treat, so he tried to make the job sound boring. Well, the job _was_ boring, but he highlighted that fact to attempt to ward the young man away. If Crowley chose to not accept the job, well, then the temptation would just wash away as fast as it had come. However, much to both Aziraphale’s dismay and delight, the redhead could not be deterred.

As such, the quiet bookshop owner found Crowley under his employ. While he tried not to think about all the other places that he wouldn’t mind the redhead to be, he was determined to be a firm but fair boss.

“Remember, not too firm,” Aziraphale said to himself while he looked in the mirror, straightening his perfectly crisp bowtie for the third time in the last five minutes. Anyone who truly knew him would say that he was nervous.

“But not too fair, either,” he added with a small nod, reminding himself that he still needed to be in control. This was his livelihood after all, and the way he treated his employees would in turn reflect on his business.

“And remember old boy,” he looked at himself dead in the eyes. _“Keep it professional.”_

That last bit he said to calm the beast that was simmering inside him, lingering just beneath the surface. That raw lust which he had felt when his sight had lingered a little too long on Crowley’s skinny hips. Surely the boy had to know how alluring they were when he swayed them so seductively.

Aziraphale took in a deep calming breath and let it out slowly, watching his own familiar reflection as it settled into a neutral but friendly face. After straightening his bowtie one final time, he nodded to himself again and then headed downstairs from his small apartment which sat above the shop. While he crossed the shop floor, he tried to reinforce within himself that this was just another Monday. A regular old boring Monday that would be just like the one before and the one before that. 

And then he reached the front door and saw that dashing young man standing there, all bright red hair and thin lips. He smiled at Aziraphale, an adorably excited face for his first day of work.

 _‘Oh dear,’_ He thought to himself. 

This was certainly _not_ going to be like any Monday he had ever had before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's first day at his new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this new chapter. 
> 
> It diverts a bit away from the story line of Secretary, but I think it works. Plus, I really wanted to have Tracy in there somewhere, and this seemed like a good place to do it :)
> 
> Much love to you all. 
> 
> <3

It was an understatement to say that Crowley was nervous to start his new job. What he really was, was a walking, talking ball of anxiety that only just managed to seem like a regular human being. The day before his first shift, he was almost grateful that he was usually invisible in his own home. If anyone had looked closely enough, they might have been able to see the vicious storm that was surging within him.

Come Monday morning, he had set his alarm extra early. Actually, he had set several alarms in case he slept through the first one or hit snooze in want of five more minutes or sleep. As it turned out, he only needed the one. When the digital buzz sounded at six am, he sprung up out of bed like a wild bronco out of the stable, desperate to get things going.

Once again, he found himself dressed in one of his father’s ill-fitting business suits, the likes of which swallowed his skinny body whole and did no favours at all for his slender silhouette. He had wanted to wear his normal clothes, but his father had been insistent that he wear a suit. The exact words said were _‘you have to dress to impress’_ and _‘dress for the job you want, not the job you have’_ , all pieces of advice that Crowley saw pointless. How could he dress for a job he wanted if he didn’t even know what he really wanted to do for a career? In the end, Crowley had just resigned to his father’s wishes, thinking the matter not worth starting a fight over. Besides, he supposed there was some sense to what his dad was saying. He did want to make a good impression after all. So, in the greater scheme of things, wearing a baggy suit several hours a day wasn’t that bad.

For fear of getting an embarrassing last-minute pep talk from his parents, Crowley was out of the door as soon as he was dressed, everything he needed stuffed into his large, roomy pockets. This early escape from the house meant that he reached the bookshop more than an hour before the start of his shift, giving him plenty of time to calm and centre himself beforehand. Luckily for Crowley, he found a cute little café that was open, so he secured himself a quiet table in the back corner and sipped on coffee while he flipped through his phone. Skinny thumbs swiped over the flat screen, flipping through tab after tab of useful websites and YouTube clips that he had saved in preparation for this new job.

After one hour, two expressos and three viewings of _‘A beginners guide to using a typewriter’_ , Crowley’s leg was bouncing like crazy with nervous anticipation. In hindsight, having nothing but a decent dose of caffeine for breakfast was not the best thing for calming his nerves. But it was too late now for retrospection. It was now a quarter of an hour before his shift and nothing he could do about it now. So, with his flat belly full of butterflies, he willed his long legs to take him to the front of the bookshop and then took a few long deep breathes. He could almost hear Dr Device’s voice in his head, _‘In for four, hold for seven, release for 8… that’s it, again…’_ By the third breath, he was feeling much better and the nervous shaking was gone. _‘Good’_ he thought, _‘the last thing Mr Angelic Blonde-hair-blue-eyes needs to know is how crazy I am’._

Just as he was thinking that, he heard the sound of footsteps coming from inside the shop, so he looked in through the window of the door. His smile at first was forced, trying to look like he wasn’t one step away from making a runner. But when he laid eyes on that heavenly face again, he could not help but feel a rush of genuine glee flow through him. He smiled like a lunatic, all stretched lips and white teeth. Maybe, hopefully, Mr Fell would just think he really, really likes filing paperwork? Yeah, that would work.

……….

The first half of the day had gone pretty much as Crowley had expected. Mr Fell had given him a detailed tour of the bookshop, pointing out the various sections and explaining a quite unexplainable categorising system. As the well-dressed blonde showed him the lengthy inventory records, Crowley silently thanked both heaven and hell that he wouldn’t have to proactively sell the darn things. Just the thought of having to reorganise these shelves each day was enough to make his head spin.

“No need to stress, you won’t have to worry yourself too much with my collection,” Mr Fell said, somehow reading the thoughts straight from Crowley’s mind.

“Other than fetching me a certain book occasionally, you will just need to clean the shelves and dust the covers from time to time,” Mr Fell added, flashing Crowley a reassuring smile, accompanied with a stolen glance, a little sparkle in those kind blue eyes.

“Ng, yes Sir,” Crowley said, unsure of what else to say. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow as he looked back into those beautiful eyes. Not for the first time that morning, he was glad that he had chosen to keep his shades on, lest the blonde see just how many times he stole glances of that charming cherubic face.

“Good,” Mr Fell said, the bright smile suddenly falling from his face in an instant. He then gave a soft throaty cough as he looked away, straightening his posture and tugging on the hem of his velvet waistcoat.

The sudden shift in the air had Crowley stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets, eyes inspecting his worn leather shoes while Mr Fell closed the inventory files and checked his vintage pocket watch.

“Oh, would you look at that, it’s lunchtime!” Mr Fell said, closing the watch with a tiny click and stashing it back into his waistcoat pocket.

“Would you – ah, should I – shall I get you some food then?” Crowley asked, feeling like it was the right thing to say. He was a secretary now, wasn’t he? And fetching lunch seemed like exactly the sort of thing he should be doing.

“Yes. Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you dear boy,” Mr Fell said, a warm smile back on his face. “There is a sandwich shop down the road, Tracy’s, I have a tab there and she knows what I like.”

“Sure, great. Will do, Mr Fell,” Crowley said, hoping that his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. It had been a little thing, but there was just something about the way that Mr Fell said _‘dear boy’_ that made Crowley feel… well, he wasn’t sure yet how exactly it made him feel… but it was not a bad feeling, not at all.

“Lovely,” Mr Fell said, his gaze settling on Crowley’s face a little longer than normal. After a beat, he brought his hand to his lips and cleared his throat with a cough. “I will, ah. I will take lunch in my office, I have some reading I need to catch up on.”

And with that said, the conservative bookshop owner turned and promptly headed down the short hall, disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him. Crowley looked after him for a moment, blinking slowly behind his black lenses. Then, with a cough to clear his own throat, he headed out the front door.

……….

“Oh, Hullo handsome!” a middle-aged woman said behind the counter as Crowley walked through the door, delighted surprise evident in her voice. “What can I get ya?”

For a moment, Crowley was not completely convinced that she was talking to him. He looked around the empty shop and then behind him, checking to see if there was some handsome man that he was overlooking. Then it finally dawned on him that this woman was indeed talking to him.

“Ah, yeah, hi,” Crowley said as he shyly approached the counter. “I’d like to order lunch for Mr Fell… if that’s okay?”

“Course it is, luv!” she replied with a chuckle, like there was some joke that Crowley wasn’t getting. “it’s about time the ol’ fella got back out there. I’ve always told him that he has a lot goin’ for him. Owns his own business, got that nice little flat, and he’s not hard on the eyes either, is he?” she said with a wink.

“Uh? Oh!” Crowley said, eyes widening with the realisation of what she was suggesting. “No, I’m, uh… I’m his new secretary.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, letting out a small sigh while she wrote something down. “Shame, that is. You’re just his type.”

Crowley was certain now that he was blushing, his cheeks felt like they were on fire. He was just about to say something when the redheaded woman started yelling behind her into the kitchen.

“Wake up, Mister Shadwell! Ya got an order!”

“How dare ya – I wasna sleepin’!” a deep voice yelled back, followed by a very obvious yawn. “Whadtheywant?”

“One A.Z Special and a, uh… what you want, sweetheart?” she asked Crowley in a lesser tone.

“Oh, um… a ham sandwich?” Crowley replied.

“And one ham sarnie!” she yelled. “Did ya get that, Mister Shadwell?”

“Yeah I gotit, am not deaf, you ruddy hargfjker…” Mr Shadwell mumbled while the sounds of knives chopping started up.

“It really is a shame,” the lady, who he later discovered was call Tracy, said as she started getting some napkins together for the order.

“What is?” Crowley asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

Tracy smirked, lifting a slender brow was she replied, “You really are his type.”

……….

_‘You really are his type’_

Tracy’s words replayed in Crowley’s mind.

They replayed over and over as he walked back to the bookshop, as he arranged Mr Fell’s sandwich onto a plate, and as he made a fresh cup of tea to accompany it. By the time he was carrying the meal down the hall and into the office, the words were deeply embedded within him, burning him from the inside out. He kept thinking to himself, _‘was that the only reason he had gotten this job? Because he was Mr Fell’s type?’_

Crowley stood still for a moment after entering, thoughtfully looking at the full-bodied blonde who was sitting back in one of the lounges, calm blue eyes following the words of his book as he casually thumbed through the pages.

As he crossed the room and gently placed the meal down on the coffee table in front of his boss, Crowley kept stealing glances at him, checking to see where his focus was. He figured, if the only reason he was there was to be a piece of eye candy, wouldn’t Mr Fell be treating him as such? Crowley mulled this over as he quietly walked back across the office and let himself out.

While he closed the door behind him, Crowley took the chance at stealing one more look at Mr Fell, again finding him lost in the pages, not a single glance spared to ogle his new secretary.

Crowley decided right then and there that even if he might possess certain physical attributes which Mr Fell found appealing, it mustn’t have been the only reason why he got the job.

So, with that humbling thought in his mind, Crowley sat at the shop’s front desk and ate his ham sandwich in peace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is enjoying working for Mr Fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. 
> 
> Here is another little chapter, I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> <3

Crowley’s first week at the bookshop had gone as well as he had been expecting. He had struggled with a few things, like learning how to properly format a letterhead using a typewriter and deciphering Mr Fell’s handwriting. While the elegantly written words were beautiful to look at, Crowley did have a difficult time in reading some of the more scribbled words. Beyond that, it was immediately clear that Mr Fell had a vocabulary that was ten times larger than his own. Luckily for Crowley, there were many dictionaries around to help him understand the long, articulate words his employer used. Apart from that, he found that he rather enjoyed being a secretary. He liked doing the simple tasks like sweeping the floor and dusting the shelves, he found the repetitiveness of it all rather relaxing and therapeutic. But above all else, he simply enjoyed doing things for Mr Fell.

 _‘Good job, dear boy’_ , and _‘nicely done, Crowley’_ Mr Fell would say after he had completed a task. Well without his agreement, the praise instantly made him blush. For the first few days, Crowley had wondered why he was having such a strong reaction to such simple words. Then it dawned in him, he had never really been praised before.

At home, he always kept to himself. When he ventured of out his room, he would contribute to the household as best he could. Washing the dishes, vacuuming the carpet, mowing the lawn. Sometimes he would get a few quid for his efforts but more often than not his efforts would simply go unnoticed. Now that Crowley thought about it, the last time he was actually, properly praised by his parents was when he was in the fourth grade and had won first place for the hundred metre sprint at his school’s sports carnival. Everyone had patted him on the back and told him how well he had run, how fast he had been out on the track. Even his own father had ruffled his hair and told him that he was proud. While it was a lovely memory and one to cherish for a lifetime, that was over a decade ago now and the faint ghost of the hand in his hair was no longer good enough, not by a long shot.

It wasn’t long before Crowley was going above and beyond in order to hear those magic words. He would even make a point of telling Mr Fell each time he had finished a task, just so he could have a little dose of that praise to keep him going.

“Bathroom’s all clean, Mr Fell,” Crowley said, poking his head into the office. He bit his lower lip for a moment as he looked over to the handsome blonde at his desk, hoping that he had not just interrupted him doing something important. However, any worries that he had were quickly washed away when Mr Fell took off his little round spectacles and looked up at him with a pleasant smile.

“Thank you, dear boy, I’m sure that you have done an immaculate job, I have yet to be disappointed with your cleaning abilities,” Mr Fell said, gleaming eyes steadily watching Crowley hover in the doorway.

“Uh, phsshh, was nuffin really, piece of cake,” Crowley said as he took a few steps into the room, hands sheepishly sinking into his pockets.

“Don’t do that, Crowley,” Mr Fell suddenly said in a firm tone, catching Crowley off guard.

“I-I, wh- don’t do what, Sir?” Crowley mumbled, panic starting to set in that he had done something wrong.

“Don’t act all cool and nonchalant when I give you a compliment,” Mr Fell said, watching as Crowley’s jaw dropped slightly, mouth open and cheeks flushed with the frankness of the conversation. “You have worked hard and have been doing a stella job. You deserve any compliments or praise that I give you, and you should take it with pride.”

“Ye-yessir,” Crowley said in hushed tones, the small voice reflecting how badly he wished to just disappear into the walls.

“What was that?” Mr Fell said firmly.

“Yes. Yes Sir. I will Sir, thank you,” Crowley pushed out, voice loud and clear despite himself.

“Good,” Mr Fell said, pleased with Crowley’s response. “Now, I need your help with something, Crowley. I can’t seem to find my notes on the Archer commission. I think that I may have accidently thrown them away. I was wondering if you could –“

“Go through the rubbish, Sir?” Crowley said before Mr Fell could finish. An eagerness to complete the next task searing through his veins. It didn’t even occur to him that there might have been a different ending to Mr Fell’s request.

“Yes,” Mr Fell said after a beat or two, cool eyes taking a moment to regard the dashing redhead in his office. “If you please, Crowley.”

“Of course, Sir,” Crowley said, his head ducking down as he took the few steps to the door, closing it softly after him.

……….

The fiery haired secretary felt no shame nor embarrassment as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves in the back alley, sizing up the large metal dumpster which loomed before him. He was going in, and there was nothing short of Armageddon that would stop him.

 _Clank clank, thud,_ “Ow! son-of-a!” _clank, squish,_ “Ew-what the?” _shuffle, clank, ruffle,_ “A-ha!”

Triumphantly, Crowley emerged from the mound of rubbish, looking worse for wear but nonetheless with a smile on his face. He had at least two bruises on his shins and something that smelt like warm banana yogurt in his hair, but he had found the document and that was the important thing. He could not help the excitement that bubbled inside him as he went back inside, keen to see another smile on Mr Fell’s beautiful face.

“Mr Fell?” Crowley said softly, standing to the side of the large wooden desk, crinkled paper in hand and hopeful look on his face. “I found that document for you.”

“Hmm?” the calm blonde hummed, finishing the sentence that he was writing before looking up. “Oh, thank you dear boy but I don’t need it now. I found a copy of it.”

“Oh, no worries,” Crowley said, swallowing down a stab of disappointment while he dropped the paper into the small waste bin by the desk.

“Clear these away would you, Crowley?” Mr Fell nodded to the empty plate and cup on the desk, his attention already back to his work. “And make me a fresh cup of tea, please. Less milk this time.”

“Less milk, gotcha,” Crowley said, still feeling somewhat deflated as she leaned over the desk.

Just as Crowley plucked up the items, Mr Fell turned his head and squinted as he noticed the Band-Aids on Crowley’s exposed forearms, the trail of white strips disappearing up under the rolled-up sleeves. Crowley cursed himself for not covering back up as those azure gems looked up at him, a combination of sympathy and curiosity swirling within them.

“I – um, “ Crowley started to talk, before the awkward silence got too long. Just before he made up some half-arsed excuse for the wounds, the bell to the shop’s front door rang. “I should get that,” Crowley said a little too fast, quickly turning and disappearing out of the office.

……….

“Finally! Is he here?” an impatient voice demanded as Crowley arrived back to the shop floor.

“Do you – um… you mean, Mr Fell?” he asked.

“Of course I mean Mr Fell, who the hell else would I be looking for?” the fat, balding man asked, a mean look plastered on his ugly face.

Crowley was tempted to say something sarcastic to the irritable man, but he decided that Mr Fell would not be too pleased with that.

“Let me, um. Let me go check. Who may I say is calling on him?” Crowley asked with the best professional voice he could muster up.

“Sandalphon,” the made sharply snapped. “He will know what it’s about.”

“Of course. Please wait here, Sir.” Crowley said before heading down the hall.

“Mr Fell?” Crowley asked softly as he opened the office door. “There is a, ah- a Mr Sandalphon here to see you.”

“Oh, Heavens to Besty, not again!” Mr Fell exclaimed before he sighed and sunk back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “Just, just tell him I’m not here. He is the last thing I want to deal with today.”

“Um – sure. No worries, leave it with me,” Crowley said. He took one last look at the sorrowful look on Mr Fell’s face before he closed the door and stormed back down the hall.

“I am afraid he is not in at the moment,” Crowley said with a firmness to his voice. Somehow, the fact that Mr Fell didn’t want this man here, gave Crowley the confidence to do what he needed done. “May I take a message?”

“Heh, sure, whatever,” Mr Sandalphon said, obviously not convinced that Fell was not there. “Tell him that I know he has it, and that I won’t be treated this way. I expect to hear from him by the weekend.”

“Won’t be treated this way, know he has it, weekend, gotcha,” Crowley said as he ushered the man out of the front door. “Have a nice day” he said, slamming the door shut and locking it as soon as he could.

……….

Several minutes later Crowley returned to Mr Fell’s office with a fresh cup of tea and a little plate of biscuits to accompany it. He also had his sleeves smoothed back down and his jacket on, all remnants of the awkward moment earlier swept under the rug.

“That man is gone now, Sir. Here is your tea,” Crowley said politely while he set the tea and biccies down on the desk.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Mr Fell said, his voice tired but honest. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him, I know he is not pleasant.”

“Nah – it was alright. I’ve had to deal with worse before,” Crowley said, shrugging his bony shoulders nonchalantly.

Mr Fell blinked, looking up to Crowley’s face and taking a moment to inspect the sharp lines of his face. “Now that is a true shame.”

Crowley lifted a slender eyebrow, curious to know what Mr Fell meant by that comment. But before he could ask, Mr Fell continued.

“You have done well today, Crowley, very well. Please, take the rest of the afternoon off, you have earnt it.”

“Um, sure. Thank you, Sir,” Crowley said, the giddy feeling of being praised returning to his heart. “See you tomorrow, Sir.”

“Goodnight, dear boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos make me smile. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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